


What does sex feel like? pt. 2

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Series: WDSFL [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Underage - Freeform, Weecest, Weechesters, Wincest - Freeform, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 02:14:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1328125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants more</p>
            </blockquote>





	What does sex feel like? pt. 2

**Author's Note:**

> So many other fanfics to continue and I choose to continue this one, which was originally meant to just be some shameless smut but which now has kind of a plot? lol oh boy.  
> from Dean's perspective this time. I thought it'd be fun to switch around. :)  
> happy st patty's day, guys !

The next day, it was like nothing happened. After all, it was just Sammy. His little brother. And Dean had just wanted to help him out, to show him the right way to masturbate, so that he would feel good. That was his job, right, show his little brother the ropes? And Sam had _asked_ , goddamn it. So he obviously knew what he was getting into. And Dean remembered the way Sam had wiggled his hand out from under Dean's, the way he had enjoyed Dean's strokes. He had even mentioned the word _amazing._

And yet Dean found himself staring into his coffee cup thinking things over a little too much because he was seventeen. Developed. Experienced. Older. He was supposed to know the boundaries. Sam was only thirteen. Still a kid. He was beginning to think he had taken things a little too far last night.

Sam shuffled into the kitchen in his too-baggy sweatpants, ruffling his bed-head.

Just as Dean had expected, they ate breakfast together at the table as though the events of last night hadn't taken place. Either that, or as though they weren't big enough of a deal to even discuss. But even though they didn't _talk_ about it, Sam was acting a little different. Small things, here and there. Like staring longer than usual at Dean during breakfast. Like expecting Dean to go easy on him when he said they needed to train out in the yard.

"But Dean, I'm tired. We trained all day Monday." Dean detected a hint of a whine in his voice.

"Don't give me that, Sam. You know we have to." Dean cleared the table after they were done eating and put Sam's cereal bowl in the sink. "Dad's expecting us to. He left me explicit instructions. What do you think he's going to do if he comes home and finds us sitting on our asses?"

Sam slumped forward, his palm catching his head. "I _hate_ training."

Dean remembered that phase. It was the woe-is-me, everything is over-the-top dramatic phase that occurred when you were a pre-teen. Dean went through the same thing, only he was the only one who knew about it. Not like Sam, who made sure everyone was aware of his displeasures — especially Dad. The only time Sam didn't complain about the Family Business was when his head was buried in a stuffy old book.

"You won't hate it when you find yourself face to face with a blood-thirsty Wendigo. Now come on."

 

The one thing Dean loved about this old house they were renting was the yard. It was this wide open space that was perfect for whatever you wanted to do, including shoot a couple rounds, because there were no neighbors around to complain about the noise.

Dean had planned sparring for today. Sam was small, but he was a fast learner. He was already good in Dean's book, but often didn't know what to do when he was pinned. Dean needed to teach him the techniques in maneuvering yourself out of your opponent's hold, as Dad had taught him.

Standing in the yard, the pair faced each other.

"Okay, Sam, tackle me."

Sam sighed, before shifting on his feet.

"Come on!"

Then Sam was upon him quickly, using a specific take-down technique that Dean knew all too well, with his forearm pushing flat across Dean's chest and his calf twisting behind Dean's. Sam took him down successfully, but once on the ground, Dean quickly spun them around by pushing on Sam's chest with his elbow and pushing off the ground with his free leg.

Sam hit the ground with a huff and his body relaxed slightly.

"You're dead, Sam."

Sam tried to wiggle free but soon gave up. "I don't know what to do, Dean."

"Pretend I'm a werewolf. I'm about to eat you, Sam. You can't just give up."

Sam sighed again, his legs squirming under Dean. It was no use, though. Dean had them both pinned; one with his shin, and one with his knee. The correct move would be to use his free arm to catch his opponent in the jaw with his fist and have them loosen their hold on the other one.

"I can't, Dean." Sam's eyes darted away and Dean noticed his cheeks looked a little more flushed than usual. This was new.

Dean stared down at Sam, his grip loosening a little around his wrist. Sam didn't even try to wriggle away like he usually did when Dean gave him the leverage. He seemed to be breathing a little too heavy, too.

"Your arm, Sam," Dean pointed out to him, waiting for Sam to use it.

"I..."

"Sam, punch me, damn it!"

And then there was an elbow to his face, not hard enough to bruise, but still enough for Dean to release his firm grip on Sam and for Sam to get the upper hand. In a blink Sam was on top of him. That was his advantage over Dean - the kid was agile, freaking quick.

Sam was straddling his hips, one hand at Dean's collarbone and the other enclosed around his wrist which was pinned to the ground over his head. _Not bad_ , Dean felt like saying, but didn't.

They were both silently heaving. Sam's hair hung in front of his face, some of it sticky with sweat and clinging to his forehead. His hips shifted, _grazed_ however unintentionally, and Dean felt a heaviness begin to form in the pit of his stomach.

After he swallowed, he was all too aware of his body overheating. "Get off, Sam."

Sam loosened his frame and then Dean pushed him off of his hips, causing Sam to topple to the ground next to him with a thud.

"That's enough for today." Dean brushed the grass and dirt from his jeans and started towards the house. "You should shower, you stink."

 

It took a little longer than usual for Sam to come in from outside, and when he did, he shuffled across the hallway, gripping the bottom of his worn-out tee.

"You stink too, you know," he said in a defensive tone, making his way to the bathroom.

Dean sighed on the couch, picking up the TV remote and switching it on. It was one of those old sets that only got like fifteen channels.

 

The hours seemed to stretch on much longer with Dad gone. Meals were hard to prepare, too. Usually they just got take out or something, but Dad only left them with a little bit of money to last them the week, so Dean thought they should keep it in case of emergencies.

For supper he made a can of beans and some toast. Sam poked at the beans questionably but ate them silently.

"So did I do okay today?" He asked after a few minutes, dipping his toast in the beans.

Dean swallowed his mouthful. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't think you've ever told me to get off before. You usually find a way to get out of it, show me more moves." Sam was chewing, staring down in his bowl.

Dean eyed around, as if the words he was looking for would be on the walls. Then he took a sip of beer from the bottle in front of him. An upside to Dad being out of town. "Yeah, you did okay."

"So are you gonna show me more moves?" Sam asked, a vibrant eagerness in his voice.

Dean almost choked on his beer. With a sickening flash he realized there was a chance Sam wasn't talking about sparring. He never got this excited over it. He never anticipated learning _new moves._

To be sure, Dean looked over Sam's face but found it hard to read. His puppy dog eyes were full, hopeful.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sam." Dean looked away and took another sip from his bottle.

"I mean, y'know, _new moves_." Sam's fork swayed between his fingers and the bowl. He was smiling like a four year-old.

"Very funny, Sam." Thankfully, Dean wasn't hungry anymore, so he brought his bowl to the sink.

"Aw, come on," Sam giggled, and suddenly Dean felt like the whole situation might just be something to laugh about, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to smile.

"No, Sam."

When Dean turned Sam was giving him his best little-brother-pout.

"Finish your beans. It's your turn to wash up." Dean hopelessly attempted to change the subject because this whole thing was ridiculous. Sam actually wanted them to do things together _again?_ Like one time wasn't enough? A shower. A shower was a good idea. Dean closed himself in the bathroom and turned the water on, getting under the heavy stream.

No. Sam didn't know what he wanted. He was a kid. He was just experimenting with these new changes and Dean was accessible. That was all. Dean remembered what it was like the first few times he jacked off, how exciting and new it all was. That's what was happening with Sam. He saw it all as a game. But now, Dean knew better than to play.

 

xxx

 

They were lying in bed again, the crickets outside resuming their nightly song. Dean lay flat on his back, unable to sleep. Thirty whole minutes had passed since his head hit the pillow and yet he was still wide awake.

"Dean?" Sam's small voice came from the bed beside his.

Dean sighed. "What, Sam?"

"Can we..." Sam's voice was shaky, hesitant, but Dean didn't let him finish.

"Sam, I said no," Dean asserted.

Sam huffed. "But why not?"

"Because." Dean sighed, softening slightly. "Look, we shouldn't have done anything last night. It's my fault."

The fact was, Dean hadn't even thought twice last night before crawling into bed with his little brother. Because at the time, it had meant nothing. It was different now. _Why_ it was different, well, he wasn't really sure.

"But we didn't, really. You were just showing me —"

"Well I shouldn't have even done that. Go to sleep, Sam."

"I don't want to. I'm not tired."

"What do you want from me? Go watch TV or something." Dean turned on his side, away from Sam. He shut his eyes tight and tried to suppress the memory of what it felt like having Sam's dick in his hand and his whole body twitching with his touch. His heart was thumping so fast.

He heard the springs of the mattress squeak behind him and relaxed a little because _finally_ , Sam was listening to him and was probably going to the living room.

But then Dean felt his bed sink down a little behind him, and a wave of warmth flushed against his back as he felt Sam pressing up against him.

"You're so good at it, Dean..."

Dean swallowed hard and bit his tongue.

"Please...?"

"Sammy..." It was so hard to flat out say _no_ when his little brother pleaded like that, but he knew there was no way around it. "It's not right."

"But it's just us, nobody has to know. And it doesn't matter. You said it yourself, everybody does it."

"I was talking about jacking off! That means you do it _on your own_."

Sam sighed, and then Dean felt him shifting beside him. From the way his breathing changed, Dean figured he was now on his back.

"It felt so good when you did it..." Sam repeated softly. The sound of pure _longing_ in his voice had Dean more than aroused. He was probably trying to praise him so that he would cave. God, he knew Dean so well it pissed him off.

"Especially when you rubbed me back there... right... here..." Sam was almost whispering, and now he was making little noises, too. Dean could tell he was touching himself. He was so turned on there was a huge lump in his throat. He was a lot more turned on than last night and he wasn't even looking at Sam. That was why this was so dangerous. And so _not_ happening.

"Want you to touch me again, Dean... Please..."

Oh _god,_ he felt his cock give a little leap at the sound of Sam's voice, and now his whole body was overheating just like it had in the yard.

"Please..."

That was all it took for Dean to shift around in the bed and face Sam finally. He saw him there, covers up to his chest, with his lips parted and his hair sticking to his forehead in little clumps. His head turned toward Dean and he bit his bottom lip, catching Dean's eyes with his own. They were desperate and dark. The look on his face was a look no thirteen year-old should know yet, and Dean hated that it was partially his fault he even wore it.

Dean's palm went to Sammy's forehead like it did often when he was sick, wiping the dampness from his brow and pushing his hair from his eyes. "Okay, Sammy, okay." His other hand was sliding over his stomach, and as soon as Sam felt him, he moved his own hands out of the way. Dean felt Sam's stomach rising and falling quickly under his palm. There was so much heat under the covers Dean could feel a sweat starting to form at his back under his tank top. His fingers slipped under the cotton of Sam's t-shirt and when he touched skin he heard Sam let out a small gasp.

They were so close that Dean actually felt Sam's sporadic breaths on his cheek, humid and hot. Things were so different tonight. So different. He felt Sam's small hand reach his, encouraging the touches. Then he felt it slide up his arm, and Sam shifted his whole body even _closer_ in, maneuvering himself so that he was more _under_ Dean than beside him. And Sam's hip grazed Dean's dick ever so slightly as he shifted. It was like he did it on purpose.

Sam's mouth hung open, right there under his own, and Dean found himself unable to tear his eyes away from its red fullness.

Dean's hand made its way down further, under the waistband of Sam's boxers. The little bastard wasn't even wearing pants this time. He found him already hard and leaking, waiting to be touched. When Dean's fist closed tightly around his hot flesh, Sam whimpered small in his ear. Their faces met when Dean looked back up and he hated himself because he just wanted to devour those little noises, that glistening mouth. He was done for when Sam's tongue darted out ever so slightly. Dean pressed his mouth to Sam's, who was now arching up, needy for the feel of his brother. Sam's tongue was wet and slippery and tasted so sweet. He let out a small high-pitched mewl in Dean's mouth when Dean pressed his thumb under the head of his dick.

Sam's hips were now thrusting into the movement of his hand, causing a constant friction against Dean's erection.

Sam pulled back, away from Dean's mouth so he could talk. "Want to make you feel good, too, Dean..." And his hand snaked its way between their bodies until his fist was closing around Dean's full cock. His inexperienced fingers were not enough, too gentle, and Dean couldn't help but groan against Sam's neck at the contact. Sam was rubbing a lot at the head of Dean's dick and it was beginning to be too much it hurt.

Dean's hand switched over to guide Sam's. "Here, like this..." Together they went all the way down to the base of his cock, squeezing tight, then back up again.

"Right. Sorry," Sam mumbled, but he caught on quick. When Dean let go, Sam's hand continued, moving up and down Dean's hard cock. Dean bit his lip and closed his eyes because it felt so amazing. But then he felt Sam's little wet lips pressing at his again and he opened his mouth to let him in.

Dean began thrusting hard into Sam's hand, because he was getting close. The covers hung low over his back now, and Sam pulled away to look down at what he was doing.

"Fuck," Dean uttered, letting both his hands support him now on either side of Sam. "Yeah, like that, yeah..." And he knew he shouldn't have but he came all over Sam, all over his bare stomach and abdomen and hand, and goddamn it it was so hot. Sam seemed to love it, rubbing it in with his free hand in small circles and moaning under him.

"Sammy... Ah..." Dean winced a little and retreated when Sam's caressing hand was beginning to be a little too much. He didn't seem to want to let go. Dean guided Sam's hand away and back onto his own cock, shuddering at the taboo sight of the white flecks all over his little brother's skin.

Still so needy for touch, Sam's hips canted and bucked around, his little dick twitching as he closed his hand around it. Dean pushed the covers lower and drank in the sight before touching, because there was a very slim chance this was ever happening again. _What the hell,_ he thought as he lowered his body so that his head was flush with Sam's groin, _might as well make the most of it._

Sam's breathing picked up as he became more desperate. Dean let Sam's dick slide against his cheek, enjoying listening to his small whimpers. He smirked a little as he watched Sam bite his lip, a deep flush taking to his brother's cheeks.

"You liked when I did this, Sammy?" Dean whispered, not believing the words that were escaping his mouth. His finger gently rubbed at Sam's opening, behind his balls, and Sam's breath caught. He nodded bashfully, his hand going up to his mouth to play with his quivering lips. He was quite a vision. Sammy spread his legs open a little further and bent his knees slightly. Dean's finger persisted, gently caressing Sam's small hole.

Sam was sensitive down there, Dean could tell. Every little touch had Sam bucking his hips and whimpering hopelessly. Dean sucked on his finger to get it wet, then returned it to rub gently against Sam's entrance. Sam had probably never done anything like _this_ before.

"Oh, _Dean..._ " Sam couldn't stop moving. And his hand had shot down a while ago to grip at the base of his dick probably to keep from coming too soon.

Dean's wet finger wriggled past the tight ring of muscle, which was hard enough to do _without_ Sam moving all over the place.

Sammy gasped, clamping down on his finger and bucking up at the same time. " _Dean._ "

"That feel good, Sammy?" And then Dean's tongue darted out, flicked over Sam's sensitive skin and his finger which was now knuckle-deep, and he watched Sam lose it.

With a gasp, Sam arched up off the bed and then Dean reached up with his free hand and helped him jack off his dick through his orgasm. Dean loved the way his face scrunched up and he tossed his head around. He was endlessly writhing on the mattress, and Dean actually felt the muscles around his finger contracting as his dick pushed out thin, clear fluid.

When Sam relaxed enough to sink back down into the mattress, Dean pulled out his finger and pushed himself up. He smiled at the sight of Sam completely drained and out of breath, but he couldn't shake this feeling of guilt.

Dean flopped back next to Sam and stared up at the ceiling. He felt Sam shift onto his side and press closer in to him, his hot mouth opening breathlessly on the skin of Dean's bare shoulder.

"Didn't think it could feel _better_ than last night," he whispered, almost inaudible.

Dean turned his head to Sam, letting his nose get buried in Sam's hair which was exuding heat and smelt faintly of shampoo. Then Sam's small hand came up and rested on top of Dean's which lay flat on his stomach, and Dean shut his eyes tight because it was getting to be a little too much, too overwhelming. Sex, when he did it with girls, was always just something fun and exciting and that got him off easy. It never meant anything. He never got that tightness in his stomach like he did with Sam. He had never, god forbid, _loved_ any of the girls. Certainly not like he loved Sammy and maybe that's why this whole thing was giving him such an unsettling feeling, because he was starting to enjoy — possibly a little too much — making his little brother come.

Sam huffed tiredly against his shoulder and shut his eyes.

And it scared Dean a lot but he thought he never even needed — or _wanted_ _—_ to be with a girl again. Because there would be no point. Did that make sense?

He rubbed small circles over Sam's knuckles, soothing him to sleep like he did every night when they were younger. He knew things were different now, would be different in the morning, but he just couldn't bring himself to care.


End file.
